willeach have his own bedroom at Watson's. They could probably each have a suite of rooms if they asked nicely. And David Michael, my little brother (he just turned seven), will finally have a room bigger than a closet.

I don't benefit at all where bedrooms are concerned, since I already have my ownand I think the size is fine. The main drawback to moving to Watson's is that he lives across town. I have never lived anywhere but right here on Bradford Court. All my friends are here. Mary AnneSpier lives next door, ClaudiaKishi lives across the street, and Stacey McGill and Dawn Schafer live nearby. The five of us make up the Baby-sitters Club (I'm the president), and it won't be nearly as easy to run the club when I live clear on the other side ofStoneybrook , Connecticut.

The other "con" is that Watson is mostly okay, but sometimes he can be a jerk.

"Kristy? Karen? Andrew?"

"Yes, Mom?"It was a Saturday evening, and my mother had invited Watson and his kids over for dinner.

Karen and Andrew and I were crowded into

alawn chair in our backyard. They're good

kids. I like them a lot. And I know them well since I've been sitting for them off and on for

aboutnine months, since the time the Babysitters Club began. Watson and their mother are divorced, and while they live with their mother, they do spend every other weekend and certain vacations with Watson, and some in-between time, too, if they want. The arrangement is pretty loose.

"Dinner's ready!" called Mom.

"Come on, you guys," I said. "You know what we're having?"

"What?" asked Andrewcautiously. He's a very picky eater.

"We're having spaghetti."

"Oh, yum!" cried Karen.

"Pasketti?"Andrew repeated. "Jody Jones saidpasketti is dead worms."

"Ew,ew ,ew !" exclaimed Karen.

"Well, Jody Jones is wrong," I told them. "Spaghetti is ... noodles. That's all."